


Office Visit

by eerian_sadow



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Community: tfanonkink, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Prompt Fill, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5835310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trailbreaker needs some repairs done and comes in to see Ratchet at the worst possible time. Or maybe it was the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, on the old kink meme, there was a prompt. one day an author who was incredibly bored stumbled upon this prompt and decided to write a fic. this is that fic. Thanks to minibot_love for character input and to wicked3659 for beta work.
> 
>  
> 
> Original Prompt Location: http://community.livejournal.com/tf2007fun/506446.html?thread=17226318#t17226318  
> Prompt: Ratchet is over worked and takes a time out to masturbate believing himself to be alone.  
> An Autobot (authors choice) chooses this time to go to the med bay for a minor repair. The bot had never been attracted to Ratchet before but watching Ratchet playing with himself turns him on.

It had been a long, hard week—the kind which damaged mechs left and right and worked the medical staff into stasis. There had actually been a line in the hallway outside the medbay at one point, as they waited for berths to be freed up so that one of the medics could repair damaged mechs. Trailbreaker had decided at the time that his shoulder—damaged in a skirmish with the Seekers early in the week, but still functional—wasn’t damaged enough to warrant wasting their time on and had let the injury sit.

Now, almost a full Earth week later, the damage that had seemed so minor before was much more irritating now. He had lost almost all mobility in the joint and Prowl had dismissed him from his duty shift early for his inability to pay attention to anything due to the pain. He would have been embarrassed, if he hadn’t been so relieved to be able to go to the medbay.

It was blessedly quiet in the base as he made the trip from the command deck to the medbay. The lack of sirens and running feet were a relief. The army had desperately needed a break and, at least for a day, they had gotten one. Trailbreaker took comfort in the knowledge that the Decepticons had to be as exhausted and overworked as the Autobots; they weren’t likely to see them for a while.

Medbay was equally quiet when he walked in. The strategist had expected to see Ratchet out in the main room, tending the few mechs still in medical stasis but the medic was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, he made his way toward the senior medic’s office. He didn’t want to disturb Ratchet if he was catching a bit of rest—Primus knew the mech needed it—and he could go find Hoist or Wheeljack if that was the case.

His optics went wide when he saw the medic through the office window.

Ratchet was definitely _not_ catching a moment of recharge. He was, in fact, indulging in a moment of pleasure.

The chief medic had always had a bit of a reputation as a hedonist, but Trailbreaker had never expected to see such tangible proof. Ratchet was leaning back in his chair, legs splayed and feet braced on his desk, rhythmically pumping two fingers into his valve. The medic’s cord was fully extended and he was absently trailing the fingers of his other hand along the length, not really working toward any sort of overload that way but definitely adding stimulation.

Even as he felt a rush of embarrassment for catching the other mech in such a private moment, Trailbreaker found himself becoming aroused by the show. He had never thought of the medic as attractive before, and certainly not as an object of lust, but the pleasure on his face made Ratchet more than attractive in that moment. He felt his own cord try to extend involuntarily and wondered if he could make it back to his quarters without Ratchet noticing him.

That hope was dashed when the medic onlined his optics and looked right at him.

Ratchet’s expression was somewhere between annoyed and excited Trailbreaker knew his was embarrassed. The medic stilled the fingers that had been working his valve, though he didn’t withdraw them, and gave the defensive strategist an appraising look.

 _Either get in here or have the decency to get out of my medbay._ Ratchet’s voice over his comm link was unexpected, and sounded only slightly annoyed.

For a moment, Trailbreaker was torn. If he left, he could take care of his problem in private with no mech the wiser, but he would still have to come back to have his shoulder fixed and that would create a rather awkward situation. If he joined the medic, his shoulder would still hurt but he wouldn’t have to make a second trip or pretend he hadn’t seen anything in the office. Before he was consciously aware of his decision, he was walking through the office door.

Ratchet gave him a small smile and beckoned him closer with his free hand. As the larger mech followed his instructions, the medic began moving his fingers in his valve again. This close and uninhibited by the barrier of the glass in the office window, Trailbreaker could see the shine of lubricant on the digits between thrusts.

“How long were you planning to stand there and watch?” The white and red mech asked. “Were you ever planning on letting me know you were there?”

“I didn’t…” the black mech’s vocalizer shut off due to embarrassment and he had to reset it. “I didn’t mean to watch at all. I was going to go, but you commed me.”

“It’s alright. I like being watched.” Ratchet gave him a mischievous smile and reached out to run his fingers lightly over Trailbreaker’s codpiece. The strategist stiffened at the touch and let out a soft hiss. “But I like having company, too.” 

Trailbreaker arched into the touch, but he shook his head. “I won’t be good company. My shoulder…”

“You’ll do just fine.” Ratchet pulled the fingers from his valve—Trailbreaker couldn’t help but notice just exactly how glossy and wet with lubricant they were—and raised them to the larger mech’s lip components. The black mech didn’t hesitate to open his mouth and suck them in. The medic moaned at the action, a sound Trailbreaker echoed a moment later as the taste of Ratchet’s lubricants reached his oral sensors.

It had been far, far too long since he had indulged in something like this.

“I’ll take good care of you,” the medic continued, massaging the seams in Trailbreaker’s codpiece insistently. “Open up for me. Let me see what you’re hiding under here.”

With the way his cord had been pressing insistently against the inside of his codpiece, the strategist wasn’t inclined to argue. The panel over his interface equipment slid back with a soft rasp and his cord extended into Ratchet’s waiting hand. Trailbreaker sighed softly at the release of pressure.

“Oh, this is nice.” Ratchet stroked the cord firmly, drawing a groan of pleasure from Trailbreaker. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Trailbreaker’s processor was flooded with sensations. His shoulder still ached, but the pain was beginning to get tied up in the pleasure of having Ratchet stroke his cord. He was still so overwhelmed at the situation that he almost missed the medic’s question.

“I…” he gasped as Ratchet tightened his grip a bit before stroking upward. “Primus, do that again.”

All of his components felt like they were tingling. He felt almost hypersensitive, and it was almost too much when the other mech did as requested and repeated the hard pull to his cord. His knees went weak at the intensity of the sensation and he leaned back heavily against the medic’s desk.

Ratchet followed the movement, rolling his chair forward so he wouldn’t lose contact with the larger mech. “I like the look of you sprawled out across my desk. Lay back.”

It was an order Trailbreaker had no trouble following. He lay back against the desk, legs splayed open and head lifted just enough to be able to watch the medic. Ratchet stood up and climbed onto the desk beside him.

“What are you going to do?” The strategist asked.

“Nothing you don’t want.” The medic ran his fingers along the transformation seam in his inner thigh, following it up to the join between thigh and pelvic plate and then moving to circle the edges of Trailbreaker’s valve. “Say the word and you can go back to watching, but I’d much rather take you with me.”

“Not…” Trailbreaker groaned as Ratchet applied a bit of pressure along the edges of his valve. “Not what I meant. Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“I want to play with you until you’re nothing but a quivering pile of parts begging me for release.” The medic slid a finger into the strategist’s valve, deliberately stimulating a sensory node near the entrance. “But since we’re both supposed to be on duty, I don’t think we have time for that.”

The black mech hissed with pleasure as the first finger in his valve was joined by a second and Ratchet began thrusting them slowly. It had been so long since anyone had done this to him that the medic might get his wish, no matter how little time they had to play.

“So…” Ratchet kept his voice low, the soft volume adding to the excitement of the situation. “Since we’re on a schedule I think I want to climb on top of you, put your cord in my valve and ride you into overload. How does that sound to you?”

The movements of Ratchet’s fingers in his valve were making it hard to think. His processor caught on the words “cord” and “valve” and refused to move any further. He focused on the delicious friction of fingers against sensor nodes and let himself drift along the pleasure for a long moment.

He whimpered in loss when the fingers were withdrawn. “Please, Ratchet…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave you hanging.” The medic leaned across him, taking a moment to lick along the length of his cord, and opened a desk drawer. The red and white mech’s body blocked Trailbreaker’s view, so he couldn’t see what Ratchet retrieved from the drawer. When the medic found what he was looking for, he leaned back up—licking along Trailbreaker’s cord again—and gave him a wicked grin. “You up for a little adventure?”

After the loss of Ratchet’s fingers and the teasing licks along his cord, Trailbreaker was ready to agree to anything just so that the stimulation would return. He nodded his agreement, not really even sure what he was agreeing to.

The grin on Ratchet’s face widened before he turned away to look down at Trailbreaker’s interface equipment. He gave the strategist another of those teasing licks along his cord as he pushed something small and oblong into his port. Trailbreaker moaned at the sensation, glad just to have something inside him again. Ratchet thrust the object in and out a few times before settling it at the back of the larger mech’s valve and pulling his fingers out again. Trailbreaker didn’t have time to be disappointed at the loss—again—before the object started emitting small bursts of electricity directly into a cluster of sensory nodes.

He arched up off the desk with a startled cry. If it hadn’t felt so amazingly good, it might have ruined his mood entirely. “Oh, Primus! What is that?”

“Something Wheeljack and I came up with vorns ago.” Ratchet moved his hand, fingers still slick with Trailbreaker’s lubricants, to the larger mechs spike and stroked carefully. “Is it too much?”

Once he adapted to the sensation, it was definitely not too much. The feeling was amazing—a thousand times better than any other self service devices he’d used—and he was certain it wasn’t going to take much more at all to make him overload. “No. Oh, Primus, Ratchet, I’m not going to last. It’s been too long since I’ve done anything.”

Ratchet made a thoughtful noise. “Guess I’ll just have to call Wheeljack when we go for round two then.”

“Wha—?” The strategist’s question was cut off when the medic lowered his head and took his cord into his mouth. The other mech wrapped his lip components around him and sucked expertly, distracting him—for a moment—with the wonder of just how earned that reputation of Ratchet’s really was. The moist heat of Ratchet’s mouth was amazing, and Trailbreaker thought his joints would come loose when the medic took in his entire length—even going so far as to swallow around him. He moaned, not caring for who might come in and hear, and tried to control the bucking of his hips so he wouldn’t damage the other mech.

The black mech watched, enraptured, as Ratchet bobbed up and down along his cord, swallowing in time with the electrical pulses coming from the toy in Trailbreaker’s valve. Trailbreaker groaned with pleasure, so lost in sensation that he didn’t even register the pain from his damaged shoulder anymore.

 _I want you to overload for me,_ Ratchet commed. _I want to taste you._

Hearing Ratchet’s voice over the comm after long minutes of nothing but the sound of his own moans and the scrape of metal against metal was enough to make him come undone. The tingling that he had been feeling in his extremities since the medic first touched him washed over the rest of his body in a wave of electric bliss. Trailbreaker cried out as he felt transfluid shooting from his cord and into Ratchet’s mouth. He was dimly aware of the medic making a pleased noise as he swallowed the fluid, still using his mouth to milk the strategist’s cord for every drop he could get.

Trailbreaker dropped his head down against the desk. “Primus.”

Ratchet let the larger mech’s cord slip from his mouth and gave him a grin. “I could watch a show like that every day.”

The strategist squirmed as the medic reached down and pulled the toy from his valve. He was still a bit hypersensitive and the motion was almost unpleasant. 

Ratchet sat back down in his chair and took his own cord in hand. He gave a few strokes, then stiffened with his own overload. Trailbreaker watched in a surprise as the medic raised his hand and liked his own transfluid from his fingers. 

“That’s surprisingly arousing,” he said, feeling his interface systems attempt to reactivate.

Ratchet chuckled as the panels that covered his interface equipment slid shut. “Wheeljack thinks the same thing. Now, close up and tell me what happened to your shoulder. I could hear the joint grinding when you moved.”


End file.
